


Sufficient Sun, Steadfast Sky

by illegalstargender, Unlos



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26201161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegalstargender/pseuds/illegalstargender, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlos/pseuds/Unlos
Summary: Hoping to recover what was lost by her people in their escape westward just before her birth, the eventual hero of the Blacklocks--a young dwarf, Ûlla--travels east into Gondor where she finds answers to many questions about that which she seeks. When her journey is delayed by bureaucracy and prejudice, she accepts the help of an ally and friend, Thalion, a beloved young lord of Osgiliath.//Story by @swanofakind, Artwork by @Unlos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Sufficient Sun, Steadfast Sky

* * *

  


**Winter, First Day of Gibalîn - T.A. 667**

The restlessness of mid-afternoon was humming throughout the tent, the small buzzing of the children’s movements mirroring the busy haze in Ûlla’s mind. She took a sip of tea meeting Udin’s easy smile with a small wink. That boy had boundless energy. It was a comfort that he, at least, was clearly still eager and ready for this afternoon’s task. She turned away to set down the mug, imperceptibly shaking her head, eyes closed, sharp breath, willing a return to that selfsame wonder, joy for the story they were about to tell. _Let the bones of it lie, let the song of it sing true._

She turned back to Udin, nodding her readiness, and he drew down the drape to cover the window at the front of the tent where they stood, the attendants on the far side drawing theirs moments later, as they all went into the sudden darkness together. A few gasps from the smaller children filled the sudden silence until -- _scratch!_

She scraped the long match in her right hand into flame and stepped forward to light the first candle on the low table before her. The first few faces of those seated on the floor glowed warmly. _Ah! Kalin’s babes have grown_. She couldn’t help but smile at the twins’ round cheeks and wide eyes. 

“Once,” Udin began. She lit the next candle. He continued.

“We dwelled where the sun awakes.” She lit the third candle, the ring of light growing further, more small faces meeting hers.

“Still we dwell in her light.” The next candle and the next she lit as he spoke until the circle was complete, and Udin had finished the opening verse.

She moved to the right of the table, and Udin took his place on the left, holding out the case before him, the light of the candles dancing in his eyes. She drank in the sight, pushing her doubts out and away from the gentle, circular world illuminated by the candle’s glow. Last night’s dreams were of no consequence here, nor the missives filled with news from the south that preceded them. Udin stepped back and she stepped forward, turning as she did to face the children assembled at her feet and behind them all those who’d gathered for the first song of Gibalîn.

Their faces were all bright with interest now. Willing tenderness into her fingertips, she unfurled the map, deftly moving it face out as sharp realization bit into her chest. She was still not ready to see it herself. In other years, this was her favorite moment of the winter holiday perhaps, save perhaps for the spontaneous sharing that tended to come with the nightly circles of story. Now, she was nearly overcome and not in the usual awe--she loved maps and this one held such meaning--but in grief, nameless and trembling at the edge of some vast deep. _Oh, Thalion. I still cannot believe it’s true._

A ripple of appreciative sounds filled the air, and she drank them in, steadying herself. It was as if restlessness came back to them all, or was it her imagining? But it was of a different kind than before. It was the sort that fed you. It was the kind of restlessness that took the remembrance of the song of all things and asked you to sing along. She knew it was illogical, but that feeling followed the map. It had always been so for her; it pleased her it should be so for others. The moment she unfurled the map seemed to have the same effect each year. 

Perhaps it was the deeper restlessness of her own, perhaps the news she’d received and the fitful sleep it had inspired, the memories it brought so vividly she could feel the energy of them dancing in her fingertips. But whatever the source of that push at her heart, she did not wish to stand as was custom.

She gingerly stepped over the first row, made up of the smallest children, and continued towards the back of the tent, then stopped when she neared the center of the children’s rows. It was more important to her they should see. She gently whispered to those at her feet, asking if she could sit, steadfastly ignoring the growing certainty that the elders were getting annoyed. Luzin’s oldest, Keluk, looked awed but quickly moved to make room, helping a child with round cheeks and a wide grin who -- oh but when had Luzul grown so big?

Heartily returning Luzul’s grin, nodding assurance to Keluk and the other older children in the impromptu circle she had made, she sat, folding her legs together; then, with great reverence she laid the map across her lap. Ûlla could feel the ripples through the tent as everyone adjusted in turn. She looked out into the assembly, noting many excited faces, but confused ones, too. _What am I doing?_

But there was excitement in Udin’s face, and there was wonder in Luzul’s eyes, and there was magic in the map; more than ever, she was certain.

She always had been.

**Midsummer, Osgiliath - T.A. 537**

“Oh, you again so soon, my Lady Faranor,” the man said brightly, a cloying smile on his lips, his hands pressed against the countertop between them. Ulla considered how easy it would be to knock one loose and watch him slip. 

_Faranor._ It was meanly meant, and those Gondorians who used it in speaking to her always seemed to pause for a flinch. Today was no different; he let the silence stretch. She kept her expression neutral, which seemed to dismay the stationer a bit. She let the silence stretch a bit further before speaking again. What a silly term anyway -- land hunter, as if they themselves had not come looking for this land once -- and what a ridiculous language they used if it could instead mean so many things. _**Nor** for running, riding, or leaping, but also for snide judgements of anyone without so grand a city? Or besides! **Far** for sufficiency, **anor** for the sun, but no: land_- _hunting grasping little weasel with the audacity to bother us._ That’s _what they mean._

“Just Ûlla, if you please, as I’ve said. And as I’m sure you can see if you consult your so carefully kept schedule, it’s been another week since last I had the pleasure of...visiting your establishment. For it was you who insisted another week it would take.”

“Oh, dear me, how time does rush on, hmm?” She said nothing in response--he knew what she’d come for, and yet, here they were, playing this game again. He would truly make her say it, wouldn’t he? She held back a sigh.

“The map, sir. I am here to pick it up.” Her voice felt thin in her throat, but she did not look away. Summer’s rockrose was in full bloom on the wall outside the shop, just behind the stationer’s head, which made it easier to keep her eyes on him.

“The map? Today?” 

“Lord Thalion assured me it would be ready today, based on your calculations.” Ûlla pressed her teeth into her tongue just enough to sting. Her bag had remained packed—mostly—since the third month end. A breeze brought the amber scent of the rockrose to her, a pleasant mockery of her plans.

“Ah yes, but you see, works like this can--and do--often take longer than even the most discerning of lords, like dear Thalion, can predict, and of course you must understand, as i’m sure we explained, though you may have forgotten, that we have had to find a suitable artist to work alongside in crafting a copy of such a detailed-“

“Good day, sir.” She turned, glancing into the street proper before stepping down from the portico. The fifth and last bell of the morning would ring soon if she’d reckoned her time right. Thalion would still be nestled in his alcove by the time she could arrive at the archives. _Blessed it is the first day and he isn’t in the far court._

She’d almost hoped the stationer would call out after her, announce he’d made a mistake and oh, but of course, but the map was right here! But she’d gone several yards already. _No matter_. 

She did not look back.

Meneldil’s Square was easy enough for her to navigate now, after so long being stuck in the city, and even the greater rush and fullness of the midsummer festivities did not impede her now. Though it was out of sight, the rush of the great river felt always to her as if it were right there beneath her feet and somehow she walked upon it. Two women in bright scarves were laughing brightly at one another from behind their stands, garlanded in celebratory pennants and blooms, and Ûlla couldn’t help but return their smiles as she ducked into an alley between them and cut south.

The doorward nodded absentmindedly at her as she stepped into the front hall of the archives. It was much emptier than usual, which she counted only as a mercy, and those she did meet made no move to stop her with idle chat. The echo of her footfalls down the tapestry lined halls was satisfyingly loud in the silence. Ûlla turned the last corner, brushing light fingers over the tassels of her favorite, which depicted a scowling woman, axe at her waist, torch in her hand, opposite a tall elf with dark hair, a smoldering town behind her, a smoldering light in her eyes.

Two raps softly on the side of the archway to announce her presence. Thalion smiled but did not look up from his scroll.

“I am thrilled to see it, I promise, but I must finish this last report or I’ll lose all handle on my thoughts again, you know how this bridge-works debate has been dizzying me.” She couldn’t find a reply, her throat felt thick. He’d been so hopeful. What to say to him now she’d been unsuccessful yet again. It was only a moment or two before his brow furrowed at her lack of reply. He dropped the quill in his hand with a small clatter and met her eyes. “Ûlla?” He was so good at reading even her silences.

“It is not ready.” He made it more a statement than question, and she nodded with a heaving sigh. His curse was nearly instantaneous. “This is Nólimon’s doing,” he said with a growl.

“Or Prince Turambar’s.”

“Both.”

“Definitely possible,” she agreed and he smirked.

“Hmmm,” he pretended to think. “Ancalimë doesn’t like you either, you know?”

“She doesn’t like anyone--” Ûlla began with a wry look.

“True.”

“ _Especially_ you,” she ended. He snorted.

“I fear most of the king’s family tires of me, yes.”

“Not Rómendelen.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Ah, but we’re discussing the map, Ûlla.”

“Mm.” She smiled softly; they sighed in unison.

“Come on.” Her turn to raise her eyebrows. He picked up his bag with great purpose.

“We’re going to catch the king at lunch.”

**Autumn, Near the Sea of Rhun - T.A. 537**

The sun was nearly finished rising above the far line of the plains in the distance.. It was the first sunrise they’d witnessed since coming past the hills that spread out from the much taller mountains on either side. Here in the flat expanse the sun’s awakening was more dramatic than she could ever recall seeing it before. The splendor of the sky was uninterrupted, glorious. She let it stir her heart. _It needs stirring_. 

The night had been long and tedious, and they’d both slept fitfully between trading off for watches. She nestled her face into the fur of her collar against the chill. It was the second week of the ninth month by Thalion’s count; her parents would be making final preparations for Gibalûn. _Great Sky, see me and mine._

Thalion sighed and she tried to hold on to the contentment in it.

“You know, when I convinced you to come with me--” He paused to grin widely as she punched his arm. “It hadn’t occurred to me I was going to have to put up with these dreary sights.” She looked at him askance. Over his shoulder the sea was shimmering with the first strong rays of sunlight, tucked beneath mountains of midnight blue, and behind them the gentle brown of the flat hills.

“What a burden you bear, my friend.” He turned to follow her glance and took in the sight of the sea before turning back to her with a shrug. She shook her head fondly.

“We should make good time to--” he stopped speaking abruptly because there was an arrow in his shoulder. Many things happened at once.

He started to fall. Her eyes went wide. She grasped for his arm. He shook his head, moving his uninjured arm around her shoulder to pull her to him. Something told her to lean into the fall. What was that rushing sound in her ears? Then they were on the ground in a heap. Two more arrows sung above them then buried harmlessly in the dirt several yards past. Thalion was gasping for breath. Yes, there was thunder in her ears. Staying low she attempted to turn toward the arrow’s source, perhaps if she could see the threat? Then the sky directly before her went dark in an instant.

Her eyes had barely adjusted to the sudden gloom when they were plunged once more back into the light of the now fully risen sun. Confusion wound deeper into her, though the panic still seemed distant somehow. _What is_ \--

Her eyes focused just as an unmistakable scream rent the air. She was looking up in less than an instant. _An eagle!_ Easily the largest creature she had ever seen, it was empyrean in its magnificence, nameless in its ferocity, it’s size inexpressible. Were her people not friends with the eagles of the mountains west? And had they not before been friends of the eagles east? Was she not familiar with these creatures from egg to full grown hunter? But this being defied comprehension.

It wheeled in the sky, screaming again. The golden sun of morning only added to the eagle’s glory as it dived and soared and wheeled again. No more arrows had come their way, nor did they. The blood was still rushing through her ears, her heartbeat thrumming in her head.

She barely registered the scrapes on her palms beyond a remote stinging as she turned to Thalion. His eyes were still on the eagle.

“Dr-” he began, she shushed him, inspecting his wounded shoulder with a cautious touch. He scoffed dramatically then winced and cursed. “Dreary,” he managed with a groan. “Dreary sights I tell you.”

“Clearly, you are stable.” She turned her attention to attempting sight of the eagle once more, or their attackers. Who, and why?

“It’s the air out here. Or that armor you insisted I wear.” Indeed, she was pleased by how shallowly the arrow had struck. There. The eagle was above them in the sky behind where they lay, back towards the mountains to the north of the sea. She returned her gaze to Thalion.

“The danger seems to have passed for now, though I must see to your shoulder. I’d say we need to move somewhere more secure first, let me help you up and we’ll walk--” his chuckle interrupted her and she scowled. “This is serious, Thalion, please!” It came out more hotly than she’d meant, but her anger melted at his suddenly mournful expression.

“I’m not sure how I’ll manage,” he said softly. Confusion first, then dread bloomed within her as she took in the sight of his legs. Two more arrows were buried just above his left knee, one had gone through and was touching the ground beneath him.

“But how?” she whispered. “I didn’t--”

“I’ve just told you I’m not sure--”

“Oh, stop! Please! Thalion this is no time for word games, this is--” but there was no end to that sentence. Panic was close now, a rising fire in her brain. Sharply she turned her head to keep her face from him. She should never have let him come. She should never have let him argue with the king in the first place, she could have made it without the map, copy or otherwise, then he needn’t have ever been involved and what--

“Ûlla.” The fire had turned to ice. She should have insisted, she could have snuck out when the--

“ _Ûlla_.” She blinked back tears and turned to face him. His eyes were kind as ever, but pain circled them like a hunting bird. “We’ll manage.”

“But how?” Her mouth barely moved. _The eagle!_

Not waiting for a reply from him, she stood in a rush and ran several yards ahead in the last direction she’d seen the--bird seemed so small a word to describe it. She looked desperately about, but it seemed to have vanished. She began waving her hands above her head, a dam bursting inside of her, and screamed into the morning stillness. “Father Wing, Mother Claw!” The old eagle song of her grandmother’s wrapped around her like a sturdy embrace, lifting her up. She sang it into the air, feeling it rip from her belly, guttural and agonized. When it was done, she sank to her knees against the earth, eyes still anxiously searching the skies ahead, before she dropped her head a moment to clear it. 

Then, a gust of wind blew from behind her, tossing up her hair that had fallen loose when? Wildly she turned and sprang up. Her jaw dropped.

“You of all children know that sometimes what we seek is behind.” She swallowed hard, shaking. The voice was as familiar as her grandmother’s song yet as novel as an unknown tongue. The eagle was standing to the left of Thalion, still impossibly huge.

“You,” she breathed. “You saved us.”

“You are expected ahead.”

“My friend is injured and we need help.”

“I am.” Ûlla held her breath waiting for the rest of the sentence. None came.

“Uh, you,” she stammered weakly. “I...what, what should, can we do? Who attacked us? Why would they--” she trailed off as the eagle began to move.

For as if in answer to her words, the eagle turned to Thalion, nosing his torso gently with their beak, like a parent stooping to kiss a distressed child. Ûlla moved towards them both, stopping when the eagle lifted their head to stare at her again.

“I will carry him home. Your home is ahead.” She met the eagle’s eyes as if drawn to them by a will beyond her own. That gaze sought her out, dredging up the tangled vines growing in her chest.

“But I must, that is, he has a map, its value is priceless and he must return with it or forfeit his home with his people, that is the levy the king demanded, they would not make me a copy, so he brought the heirloom and must safeguard it and I have come to rely on it’s guidance, more than I’d care to admit, but I have not been this way before, I seek the ruins of Kezekgibal, to learn from them, the Gondorians have the treasures in their halls, but I seek the ruins, and the map will lead us there, and I must turn back now, to see him to safety, he is needed by his family, and what way shall I take if…” The words tumbled out of her in a rush then ceased as suddenly as they’d begun. The eagle blinked slowly as if absorbing them. Her breath felt steadier, her head clearer.

“My brothers will tend your treasures in our eyrie. I will guide you.” She had not felt so small since childhood. 

“You would care for him here while...?”

“Yes, him and your map. Both treasures safe with my brothers. This is the assurance you seek?” Ûlla nodded slowly. “Then you have it.” The eagle leapt into the air wheeling a circle thrice above their heads, crying into the morning air. Ûlla knelt by Thalion feeling like her legs were made of her uncle’s berry jam, her mind a haze. She took his hand and he stared back at her with an expression that perfectly summed up her own feelings.

“Well,” he said. “Not the worst morning of my life, not by a long shot.” She smiled at him weakly. “I mean, just last mettarë I had to spend the whole morning waiting on Ancalimë and Menelwen at the king’s insistence that they come to an agreement before the evening’s feast in drawing up ‘appropriate guidelines as befit their station’ for approaching Turambar’s latest _friend_ ,” he drew out the word with a dramatic flair she didn’t see how he managed given all the...arrows. “So you can imagine, this is really just so, so pleasant in comparison.” He closed his eyes again, smiling. She dropped his hand.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Inveterate,” he proudly corrected, cracking open one eye. She couldn’t help a soft smile. He smiled back and opened the other eye. “And utterly devoted to you, you must know.”

“That’s what keeps getting you in trouble.”

“Yes.”

“You are going to be safe here.” It was not a question, she knew it would be true.

“Yes.”

“You want me to leave you here.”

“Yes.” 

“You are still glad you came.”

“Yes. Oh, yes! Definitely.”

“You need to get out of the house more often before your boredom reaches such noxious levels. There are less dangerous things you can do for fun if you’re feeling listless, you know.” He grinned and then began to laugh, which drew out her own laughter, bubbling up in relief. 

“It was the least I could offer you know. That map belongs to your people, we proved that most conclusively. And oh, but that’s to say nothing of the other treasures they’re holding in the vaults. It’s plain thievery for our scholars to demand any of it remain. And idiocy for Tarostar to pretend there’s some debate to be had. What?” Her eyes had gone wide at his use of the king’s birth name. “Oh, he thinks he’s clever with that ‘Victor of the East’ nonsense, as if after the way he’s enforced his so-called treaties any lasting peace will hold, and real progress be made. Why what does he think to do...” She let him rant about the king for a few more moments before giving him a look. “ _What?_ ” he asked again.

“You know it’s only me out here, correct? And you’ve no need to convince me of his...flaws” He rolled his eyes. “Just making sure you aren’t hallucinating an audience.”

““First, I have _never_ needed an audience, I assure you, dear dear friend. And, second: don’t tempt me with a good time.”

“You’re already having one, remember?” He smiled and closed his eyes. A comfortable silence stretched between them. 

“Ûlla,” he said after a minute.

“Hmm?” she absently replied.

“You’ve got the, ah, the kit, in your bag. The, um, could you see about these?” Her brow remained furrowed in confusion until he gestured at his leg and shoulder.

“Oh!” She jumped up and went for her pack, more glad than she’d ever been her father had insisted she learned healing with old Azun. The work was a familiar rhythm that soothed her, and it was no time at all before the wounds were each dealt with such as she could. It would be some time before his leg would bear weight properly, but with rest, he’d recover well. 

“Much better,” he mumbled sleepily. She smiled as she packed up her supplies. 

“You should rest. I’m not sure when they’ll return.”

“You should too.” He was shivering ever so slightly. She drew a blanket from the pack, laid down beside him and stretched it carefully across them both.

**Early Spring - T. A. 538**

There was nothing in the world like flying. She had insisted on walking at first, which Valhir maintained was foolish. It had felt strange in the beginning, though, an imposition of sorts. Now it was a familiar thrill, one she knew she would miss terribly. Her time in the ruins of Kelekgibal had been more productive than she’d imagined. _And like a dream, a melancholy dream._

She was eager to return to wakefulness. Though Valhir had assured her of Thalion’s recovery and continued welfare, she was anxious to see him and ensure his safe return. She still did not understand the eagles’ way of communicating with one another, for Valhir spoke as if they had first hand accounts, yet they hadn’t left Ûlla’s side these several months. _The mystery of the Great Sky!_ Ûlla’s grandmother’s voice sang in her head.

She tightened her grip a bit as Valhir began to descend. The eyrie was a rocky place still farther below than Ûlla wished to think, though it grew closer with each passing moment. She shut her eyes as her stomach lurched. Landing was still her least favorite part.

She kept them closed as Valhir settled completely, willing her stomach to unclench. Her eyes flew open at a familiar whooping call. Thalion was moving towards them, the healer in her willing him to slow: knees took time. But her heart soared back into the sky at the sight.

She waved a hand and grinned in reply, rushing to meet him soon as her feet found the ground. They met in a powerful embrace, that ended abruptly as they both pulled back and began speaking at once, voices overlapping in elated reunion.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, you foolish man. You shouldn’t be running like that for at least a few more weeks. Blasphemy!”

“Look at you! A god from the sky come down! Oh, it’s hardly running if you can’t feel your legs. And you know I’ve only grown in foolishness, you foolhardy dwarf.”

They dissolved into laughter born of relief and joy.

“And _I’ve_ grown in that,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “ Foolhardiness,” she clarified. 

“Oh, I was hoping. Let me show you around.” He looped her arm in his and led her on a tour. It seemed the eagle brothers found him quite amusing, even if they did not fully understand him. Valhir was content to watch from a high perch on the cliff face above.

The afternoon turned gently to evening, then night, and around a welcome fire they made their plans for the morning’s travels. As much as she enjoyed the image of the two of them making a dramatic entrance, alighting atop the great bridge, the Dome of the Stars shining behind them, it was far more foolish and foolhardy alike than either of them would truly attempt, even grown as they had. Valhir, besides, was firmly opposed, though her brother’s were amused and had crowed long among themselves thinking on the sight of, as the eldest had said, “that scrawny man dropping his crown in the river as he shakes behind his puny rock hedges.” Apparently, the walls of Osgiliath were thoroughly trifling to the brothers three.

They would journey back as they had begun, side by side on foot until Cair Andros, then one of the light boats south into the city. She preferred them to the tall ships that docked on the city’s southern side, waiting to travel back to Pelargir and beyond, though she had often heard Thalion wax poetic about them. Ûlla had insisted on accompanying him all the way back to the city though. The trust of having taken along with her one of the city’s greatest treasures was important to her to see to its full end, nevermind, of course, the map. And perhaps her copy would be finally finished? Her own road lay now to the north.

The day they set out from the eyrie was as perfect a spring day as she could recall. Over those weeks, they spoke at length and ease as they had not on the way out. They’d been tense then, so uncertain of their way. Things seemed more certain now. The blooming hills helped. 

They would work in tandem, though at a distance: Thalion with the king and other leaders of the city, she with her parents and the rest of the council. Then in two year’s time, at the great celebration the king was planning in anniversary of his victory in battle, then 30 years past, she would travel back to the city with an emissary of dwarves, and they would renew their case for the return of the map and the other items the Gondorians had recovered, before then traveling on to Kelekgibal for more. _And perhaps, to rebuild? Someday…._

Their arrival at Cair Andros was met with open shock. Thalion first sent letters he’d prepared to both his parents and the king, informing them of their imminent return; then, they settled in to a guesthouse built into the west tower of the outer wall, a spare and sturdy place, but a friendly one. They left with the last boat the next day; it was late afternoon, and the boats did not run past sunset except at great need.

They were quiet this leg of the journey, which was easy in the rush of the Great River: Anduin these people called it, Gibalûl was it named by hers. She closed her eyes and listened to it’s song--that year, she would weep for remembrance of it at the summer holiday of the same name. Her mother had named her for the waters, Ûlla, little stream, and her father had agreed, for it was in hope of her they had journeyed west to safety. _The river_ is _the journey,_ he would say, _and our lives a stream flowing from it._ She was eager for home now in a new way, but set her eyes back toward the south. The city should soon be in view.

Though when she’d first seen the city, she had found it quite a strange sight, Osgiliath’s beauty was undeniable at this angle, the sun hanging low in the sky, turning the clouds colors beyond naming. She thought proudly of the sketch of Kelekgibal in her pack carefully salvaged from the cavernous archives she’d uncovered in the southern part of the ruins. She’d barely scratched the surface of what it still held and already it was more than she had hoped to find. _May you never burn as it did, oh City of All the Stars._

The boat docked and she felt a little guilty at how quickly she disembarked. The river, she loved; but the boat made her most uneasy. She paused, waiting for Thalion, who lingered a bit longer with the captain, smiling affably, probably laughing more about the controversy with the water guild that had happened in their absence. Ûlla had been too queasy to follow it properly, but it was good to see Thalion animated about city business again.

As they walked through the city towards his home, more than a few people gaped. Thalion assured her his letters would have been received with the first boat of that morning, but clearly they’d been gone long enough their return was no small shock. Not for the first time Ûlla wondered if the king had secretly hoped they would not make it back. _Turambar_ definitely _wished we’d stayed gone._

She pushed it from her mind. Thalion was humming and his limp was slight, he’d been diligent in his rest. They were almost to his home now if she was remembering correctly? Someone called out from the top of the street. Thalion answered with a shout of his own.

“Mother, I must walk for this wretched knee, so says this dear friend of mine, and I won’t have her scold me again for being a poor patient, but know, beloved mother of mine, your son is running to you in his heart!” Duinmir had thrown her hands in the hair at his first words and was running herself, reaching him just before he’d finished, her arms tight about him, kisses bestowed on each brow. Thalion’s joy was infectious. Ûlla smiled but held back, not wanting to impose; it was hardly a moment later, though, that Duinmir had her arms around them both. Then, she tucked herself between them, taking their arms in hers, and walked them up the street, calling to any who would listen that her son and their honored guest had returned.

Their reception at the house was no less joyous. Sirgond shed more than a few tears to see his son, and the room was full of those relatives and close friends of Thalion’s that were near enough to gather at short notice, which Ûlla noted was no small number. Though perhaps the happiest of them all was the king’s youngest grandson. Rómendelen was quietly beaming near the hearth and had not taken his eyes from Thalion since they’d entered the room.

The evening passed in stories and songs and good food and easy laughter, though she was careful to say no more about their travels than Thalion offered. He had advised some things should stay close for now. It was late when the last guest departed besides Rómendelen and herself. Thalion was grinning about his own joke, sprawled out luxuriously on the couch now that the room had emptied. Duinmir and Sirgond had insisted Ûlla spend the night nearly as soon as she’d arrived, and Thalion had laughed for he had already made her the same offer before they’d even left Cair Andros, which she had agreed to then only if his parents mentioned it first. She’d told them she’d never want to be an imposition, and they’d assured her she never could be. It had been hard to trust in Thalion’s goodness when they’d first met, but it was clear whom he’d learned it from, so she rested in that.

It had been a full evening and now that it had slowed, she felt the full weight of her exhaustion. She was wondering how to politely take her leave when Thalion dramatically stood up.

“Alright! The time has come. Rómendelen, show her!” Dutifully, Rómendelen ducked out through the arch opposite the hearth and then quickly returned, a large leather case in his hand, identical to the one Thalion had carried the map in on their journey. She narrowed her eyes at Thalion.

“What’s this?” He took the case from Rómendelen and then dramatically bowed before her.

“Your map, O Sufficient Sun.” She narrowed her gaze further, but his eyes were in earnest. What she had taken for drama, was sincere. She took it tentatively.

“Come on, come on! Open it!” His excitement was infectious, everyone in the room was smiling. She surrendered to it herself, eagerly opening the case, though gingerly with the map. She gasped softly as she unfurled it.

“Oh,” she exclaimed softly. “This is...finer than I had imagined.” Thalion nodded encouragingly.

“Much later than promised, and less than you deserve, but hopefully it is fine enough it’s been worth the wait,” Rómendelen said. Ûlla felt her heart in her throat as she drank it in; the details had all been rendered with great skill, but more than that she felt there had been no small love poured into this task. Certainty fell on her.

“Rómendelen,” she began, “this was not done by just any artist. This must have taken you months.” His eyes nearly closed with his grin.

“Yes, nearly--” Thalion made a show of counting on his hands--“nine I’d imagine.” Rómendelen snorted.

“It passed the time nicely,” Rómendelen offered.

“Oh, more than that. This is magnificent, nearly so fine as the original,” Ûlla exclaimed. Thalion’s eyes twinkled.

“I was hoping you’d think so,” Thalion said, smile wide and warm.

“Thank you, that is no small praise,” Rómendelen said.

“Thank _you_ ,” she said, placing a hand on Rómendelen’s arm. Turning to Duinmir and Sirgond, she continued, “And thank you for lending your son to me.”

“The honor is ours.”

“The least they could give,” Thalion added. His mother swatted his shoulder and he feigned a grimace.

“Careful! I’ve been injured in battle you know.”

“Oh, well then! You’ve been too long awake, I reckon. To bed with you!” Duinmir began to shoo him from the room and he ducked from her deftly, then began trying to dance with her as she continued to try and hurry him to bed. Sirgond was laughing mightily.

“Husband! You best not encourage him, and don’t think I haven’t seen _you_ yawning, you’re next!” Duinmir’s words were punctuated by laughter. Sirgond grinned to a thoroughly amused Rómendelen and Ûlla.

“As ever, my wife is both insightful and easy to obey. I bid you both good night.” He called out after Thalion and Duinmir who were now halfway up the stairs, then turned back.

“Ûlla, I trust you know the way to your room? Duinmir asked them to--” She interrupted him gently.

“Yes, thank you! Worry not for me,” she said. He nodded to her, then once more to Rómendelen and made his way up the stairs.

“They are a ridiculously happy family, nearly incredible,” Rómendelen said fondly. She chuckled softly in agreement.

“He missed you,” Ûlla offered. “I wasn’t to say anything, but he talked of little else the whole time he was with the eagle brothers reportedly.”

“The what now?”

“Oh, goodness. I suppose we didn’t explain that bit.”

“No, I dare say not.”

“It was supposed to secret. You’ll have to ask Thalion tomorrow.” He returned her smile cautiously.

“Yes, I suppose I will. You must need rest, too, Ûlla. I shall bid you goodnight.”

“And goodnight to you!” He slipped from the room and she made her way to the map again, staring at it more critically, but she could find no fault in it even then. It looked precisely like the original, she had to admit Rómendelen had done a wonderful job, even if she was broke- hearted and more than little furious to leave the original behind, let alone the rest of the things the Gondorians had collected from Kelekgibal as it burned. _Stolen now, for they will not give them back though my claim be proven._

Cautiously, though, she had begun to hope in Thalion’s diplomacy. He seemed convinced that between his father and himself they would be able to bring round the king, though she herself thought it short-sighted. Even if he did agree, he was old, and his eldest son was even less sympathetic to her people’s interests. But Sirgond had seconded his son’s claims: the full scale of the politics at work were beyond her, but apparently they had begun to lay ground for designing a new high office, someone to serve at the king’s side and in his name, but there as an ear for the people, too. She was sure the king saw it as a chance to look more fair to the common folk so he could do more of whatever he wished. But just as assuredly, Thalion meant it as a chance for something far more worthy. Ûlla was worried it was perhaps too late; the king was old now, and he loved his eldest dearly, and Turambar hated the idea (though publicly he claimed to support whatever his father decided in the matter).

Still, Thalion had a way of getting people to do what needed done, and he was willing to go great lengths in his commitments. She was still in awe of how he’d convinced the king to let them take the original in the first place, when it became clear the copy hadn’t even been started and Ulla hadn’t wished to wait. _And why should you?_ he’d said. _Why should you wait any longer; it’s been time aplenty!_

If anyone could turn the king’s ear, perhaps even his heart, it would be him.

**Winter, First Night of Gibalin - T.A. 667**

She had read the words three times now, but the lump in her throat had not budged.

_Dearest Ûlla,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, though I am sorry beyond reckoning for the news it must bear you. Thalion has gone on from this world sooner than we had thought, peacefully and with a smile, thanks be for that small mercy. It seems our dream of one more midsummer together must remain as it was: a dream built of beautiful memories. It would, of course, be good to see you and Udin, though, if you are still able to travel here in the coming year as we’d planned._

_It is with much less sadness I enclose an official report with news of King Turambar’s death. And good riddance, I say, even if only to you, for I must say it to someone and no one here will bear it. Please burn this when you’ve done with it._

_But please, do keep, if you will, the other enclosure. I found it among Thalion’s things in the study. I thought he’d sent it years ago. You should know he has indeed accomplished what he meant to. Upon his death, as my grandfather promised, much to my father’s dismay, the last wish of Thalion, Steward of Gondor shall be honored. I have already made moves to shape the council who shall oversee the preparations. I shall send a letter soon solely on that subject._

_The new lord will most likely be Uinéniel’s son_ - _in_ - _law, a surprisingly sound fellow, if you remember meeting him at Thalion’s 100th birthday? He shall make a great steward, I do believe. Though, as you may guess, I think I shall always prefer the first._

_All love go with you, all hope keep you._

_Rómendelen_

She’d read Thalion’s letter thrice now as well, but her heart had yet to believe it.

_My dear dear dear dwarven friend,_

_What a wonderful trick I’ve played on them at last. But truly, you must know, I’ve done it because it needs doing for you, and for your people, and not in pettiness only._

_You must keep it secret, but not always, just long enough for Turambar to_ begone! _from the earth, especially. For by that time I plan to have established enough legal precedent the fools such things matter to will have hands tied and tongues silenced. A Steward shall serve the king each day of his life once sworn, but one day of his life shall the king serve the Steward, and grant his request. I only wish I’d specified which day; Tarostar thought himself quite clever to demand it be the_ last _day of a Steward’s life. No matter! If I must die to see it done, worth it, for you, for life! for love! for honor! all the same, always worth it for you, and for your people._

_When you said it was almost as fine as the original that night, oh how I wished to tell you then! But I am nothing without my sense of occasion, old friend._

_May the magic of_ your _map guide you further than we ever dared to hope, fool and foolhardy though we be. Or perhaps because of it? But no matter. I’m sure I needn’t instruct you in what this map is good for. You’ve never needed my help in that._

_Travel on, Ûlla._

_Always,_

_Thalion._

Slowly, she moved from the chair where she’d wrapped herself up to read the letters again and made her way to the desk where the map was still unfurled. She ran her fingers across the edges, lingering on the eastern edge. This _was_ the real map then. And the rest of the treasures of Kezekgibal were finally theirs again? It hardly seemed real.

She crossed slowly to the fireplace. After a minute spent folding up Rómendelen’s letter, she pressed it once to her lips, then tossed it in, watching until it was ash. For a moment, she held the official report of Turambar’s death above the flames, savoring the thought of tossing it in next. But what would Kezin say? Best to stay on the right side of a scholar’s wrath. She settled for being happy the man himself was dead, gone to join his father. It was easier to feel than the grief.

 _Oh, Thalion, my old friend._ She heard the unmistakable sound of Udin’s voice calling from the front room and smiled. Soon the rest of the family would arrive and the night’s tradition could begin: a round of stories, one for each member of the family circle. They’d need an extra one this year for Illuna’s wife; it was her first year in their circle. 

“Mother?” She heard him again, closer this time. She took a deep breath.

“Coming!” She called out brightly and dashed a last tear from her eye. Thalion would want the story told properly. And what a story she had to tell this night.

* * *

  


**Author’s Notes**

When I saw the draft of this artwork for the first time, I could already feel that I was witnessing a meeting of old friends. When I sat down to write, though, I found myself inexorably drawn to thoughts of their first meeting, and the story grew from there. Many thanks to my wonderful artist for some of the most inspiring and wonderful artwork I’ve ever seen, let alone had the pleasure to write for; to my beta reader and gondorian headcanon partner in crime, Erran; to the organizers of this lovely event; to Tolkien, for giving me so much room to grow, even though sometimes that means I have to fight him for what he’s done; and, to the endlessly lovely people I live with for putting up with my SHHH-ing while it’s write-o’clock

  


An (incomplete) list of characters for further context:

 **Ûlla “Zandfaranor”** [Little Stream/River “Desert Hunter”] 

(born early spring 492)daughter of Vakin and Lamli, mother of Udin

Having her born in T.A. 492 was a really purposeful decision on my part. As a character, I wanted her to stand in sharp contrast to the hero-kings of Gondor that dominated the era, and Rómendacil I, whose kingship was defined by his battles against the Easterlings, was crowned that year. 

I also am sure she was not called “Zandfaranor” by her own people, rather the sobriquet came from the Gondorians: a compound of _faranor,_ literally land hunter (derogatory term for nomadic peoples, dating from the reign of Ostoher), and _zand_ a word of my invention based on taking a little license with Old-English, Dutch, and existing Westron grammar (which is woefully incomplete) in order to create a Westron word for sand. (Again, the reasons for this ended up not fitting into _this_ story, but as I hope to write _that_ story one day, I’ve not included that here so as not to give it away.) Ûlla’s public attitude toward the name was a defiant tolerance. Thalion gave her the idea of an alternate interpretation of _faranor_ when he first explained the word to her, sufficient sun, which Ûlla used as basis for defiantly claiming the sobriquet in the South. though her own people had other names of honor for her.

In the early spring of 492, she was the first of the Blacklocks to be born in the northern Misty Mountains after a group of them moved there in 485, being initially welcomed by the Longbeards (Durin’s Folk). When Ûlla was 6 years old, Longbeards of the north wished to migrate south to join their fellow Longbeards in Moria, and a few of the Blacklocks went with them. The vast majority remained north, with a few of the Longbeards remaining as well.

Ulla’s parents were not sole leaders of the Blacklocks or anything, and in my mind they were a people who shared leadership for the common good, rather than a strict system of inherited leadership based on bloodline. They were, however, prominent leaders in their society, and their participation in both local and continental politics was a big influence on Ulla growing up. Hearing her parents talk about the land they’d come from, their homeland in the east, whether factual and historical information or legendary and mythic stories or songs, was one of Ulla’s chiefest joys in her youth and young adulthood.

In the time between her coming of age in the Blacklocks settlement in the north of the Misty Mountains and the beginning of her time as Chieftain and the Blacklocks seclusion in 604, she made several great journeys into the East, acting as a sort of ambassador to the other peoples of Middle-Earth, while also seeking to accumulate as much of her people’s history as possible. While she began with hopes that her people could soon return to their ancestral home, Kelekgibal, by the year 600 she had come to see that it would not happen in her lifetime and turned her attention to preservation and safety of her people in the face of a growing anti-Eastern sentiment among the surrounding people groups, especially in Gondor.

It is still ambiguous in my mind whether Udin is her child by birth or adoption, and she never married. She is driven, but not brash. A thinker, but also ready to take bold and quick action, and physically imposing. Gibablûl and the other holidays of the Blacklock’s calendar* are still known to the Blacklocks well into the Third Age because of her efforts. She treasured her people’s history and shaped her people’s future in the process.

She died in 756, and although she herself had been a passionate advocate for shared rule unattached to familial inheritance, so beloved was she and so capable her son, that her only child, Udin was named chieftain after her, and future generations of Blacklocks followed a similar suit, with a few exceptions, so that by the time of Ulla II & Berylla (characters in my other fic based in this interpretation of canon), it was more like to the hierarchy of the Dunedain of Arnor than to anything Ulla I had envisioned or hoped for.

  


**Thalion** [Steadfast]

(born fall of 491) son of Sirgond and Duinmir, the first Steward of Gondor. I wanted to explore the idea that there must have been an establishment of this office that would allow for Pelendur’s role to make political sense. Pelendur is the first _ruling_ Steward, yes, but he is spoken of as Steward of Gondor in a way that suggests he was holding this office before his king’s death. Thus, there must have been stewards before him, though Tolkien left them unnamed. I wanted to create a context for the establishment of that office, though I won’t say more here since I hope to write more about Thalion (and Rómendelen!) in the future.

  


**Valhir** [Bowels of Divine Power]

(they didn’t tell me, sorry) they are one of the oldest living eagles of this kind of size/power, though they and the three eagles they call their brothers no longer serve Manwë. I know I’ve said this before, sensing a theme, might write more about this, too.

  


**Rómendelen** [Star of the East]

(born 500, the year of his grandfather’s most decisive early victory against the Easterlings) second son of Turambar, grandson of Tarostar/Rómendacil, younger brother of Atanatar

  


**Tarostar/Rómendacil I** [Lord of Lands/East-Victor]

(born 310) son of Ostoher and Ríanulmë, older brother of Ancalimë, husband of Menelwen, father of Turambar, Nólimon, and Uinéniel

  


* The four holidays of the Blacklocks I’ve developed for this story (though I have four additions to make in future) are: Early Spring, Gibalír (Great Moon); Late Summer, Gibalûl (Great Stream/River); Early Fall, Gibalûn (Great Song/Sky); and last but not least, Midwinter, Gibalîn (Great Stone)


End file.
